


Windmills

by tikistitch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel in the Bunker, Episode: s09e11 First Born, First Born, Fluff, Gen, sam and cas is my brotp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 02:33:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tikistitch/pseuds/tikistitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Castiel spend some time together in the MOL bunker, talking about stuff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Windmills

**Author's Note:**

> Long story short, I wasn't really happy with the long-awaited Sam/Cas interactions in First Born, so I made up my own. And, yes, now I feel better, thank you.

“Angels texting.”

Castiel looked up from where he had been hunched over his cell phone, a slight trace of guilt crossing his face. He held phone pressed tight into his body. “Good morning, Sam.”

“That coffee fresh?” Sam asked, somewhat needlessly. Cas always brewed a fresh pot. He was actually a really awesome roommate in some ways: he never dirtied up the bathroom, didn't play his music too loud, and always put on a fresh pot when he'd taken the last cup. Hell, dude could probably be trained to fill up ice cube trays and sort laundry. 

“I just brewed it, Sam.”

Sam smiled and grabbed down a mug out of the cupboard. He had awoken, as he had for the past few days, to the beguiling aroma of fresh coffee. Cas liked it strong, but not spoon-melting strong. Not like-

“So, I take it coffee doesn't taste like molecules?” asked Sam, interrupting his own thought. He put a hand through his rumpled hair and sat down at the dining room table opposite the angel.

The head listed a good five or ten degrees off vertical, Cas's quizzical mode. “Actually, it does.” He took a sip. “I've simply developed a fondness for it. I can't explain it.” Sam noticed he still held the phone in close to his chest, like you would a frightened bird.

“I know who you're texting, by the way,” said Sam, who was pretending to stare nonchalantly into the distance. Cas stilled, somehow. It wasn't like he was jittery to begin with, but Sam could feel him closing in. “I don't mind,” Sam expanded, waving a big hand dismissively. “The profound bond an all.”

“I-” Cas began. He held up his phone, squeezing his eyes at the offending text message on the screen. “I didn't want to appear disloyal, Sam.”

Sam shifted around to face Cas. “He's OK, right?”

“Yes. Yes, your brother is … all right.” Micro-expressions flitted over Cas's face: a brief flicker of a smile, and a slight drawing together of brows. There was more to this. But not for now. Dean was alive. He would leave it there.

Sam decided on a little air-clearing, although this was always a dicey prospect when you were trying to talk sense to a celestial wavelength in the body of an AM radio salesman. “Cas, I'm not sure if you understand this, because it's humans, and I know you think we're weird.”

“I'm weird, Sam!” Cas blurted. “I'm very weird!”

Sam tried really hard not to crack up. He ended up breathing very hard, and sort of biting his lip. “OK, Cas. Well, I'll put it this way. I still love Dean. I'll always love Dean. He's my brother. My big brother. But sometimes … I wanna strangle him.” Sam mimed the gesture, and Cas's eyes grew wide. “I mean, not literally of course. But sometimes, we just need some time away. To think.”

“You're inhibited from thinking if Dean is also inhabiting the bunker?”

Sam opened his mouth, closed his mouth, and then took a good long sip of coffee. _The most earnest man in the entire goddam universe is sitting across the table from me. Chuck, what the hell were you thinking the morning you created Castiel?_ “If Dean were here, we'd just argue. We'd just create more shit between us. And there's already enough shit. Enough for a lifetime.”

“He didn't want you to die, Sam.”

“No, Cas.”

“Dean is not our enemy. We have a lot of enemies. We need-”

Sam set his coffee mug down a bit too hard, and a little coffee splashed out on the table. 

Cas stood up. “I'll get a towel for that,” he said, because he was the world's most awesome roommate.

“Cas, no towel.”

“It will-”

“No towel!” said Sam, a little too loudly. “Sit down.” He counted to ten. Cas remained standing, staring at him. Sam counted to twenty. He let out a long breath. “Please sit down,” he managed, a little more softly. Sam raked a hand back through his hair. “Cas, what I did-”

“It wasn't you, Sam.”

“Cas!” Sam held up a finger. “Let me finish.”

“But, Sam-”

“He was eating a sandwich, Cas!” Sam felt the tears coming. God dammit. He hadn't wanted to get into this, but here it came. “He was eating a sandwich. And I'll never forget the look in his eyes. Never! And it was my hand. My hand!” He took a ragged breath. “The last thing he'll remember – the last thing in his life – was me.”

Somehow, Cas moved more silently than any human. He wasn't zapping around because his wings were broken to shit. But he still moved like something that wasn't quite human. He was gone to the kitchen, and back with a towel, and then he was standing over Sam, efficiently dabbing up the spilled coffee, and replacing the mug. 

And then he was sitting in a chair, not opposite Sam any more, but right next to him. He was sitting a bit too close. Not like he did with Dean all the time, but too close. When Sam finally looked up, though, Cas wasn't staring at him. He was gazing off to the side, looking for something. “You remember Samandriel?” he said at last.

“Wiener Hut kid,” said Sam, a small smile tracing his features. Count on Cas to come up with something completely irrelevant here. And then he remembered. “Oh. He died.” It was all that bizarre stuff before Cas took off that one time. 

“I killed him, Sam.”

“Yeah.” Sam took a deep breath and tried to remember, grateful for the change in topic. “They tortured him, and he attacked you or something?”

“No,” said Cas. And then he said nothing, for an uncomfortably long time.

“All right, you wanna – I dunno – elaborate?” _How did Dean even have conversations with him? Did they just blink at each other?_

It came out, but grudgingly. “Naomi was controlling me. Under her control, I killed him. In cold blood. As he lay, helpless, in my arms.”

“Oh!” Sam had no fucking idea what to say. So he said, “That sucks,” which was admittedly pretty lame. Cas still wasn't looking at him. He didn't seem to be asking for forgiveness. Sam wasn't sure what he wanted.

“Doubtless I have performed many such heinous acts throughout my existence, except, fortunately, my memories have been scrubbed.”

“That's what Naomi did?”

“Yes. She programmed us to be free of hesitation. I suppose you would call it a conscience? I was reputed to be especially stubborn in that regard.

Sam scooted forward, his knees nearly touching Cas's. “Well, that's something right? You obviously didn't wanna do it.”

“When Naomi wanted me to kill Dean, it took many training sessions.”

Sam felt his heart stop. “Kill Dean?” he whispered.

“I was supposed to kill a replica. But it took me too long. And I expressed much hesitation. So they made me kill another. And then another. It was many repetitions. Over many days.”

“How many, Cas? How many times … did you kill Dean?”

“Hundreds. Perhaps a thousand? I had long ceased counting.” Cas put a finger to his own cheek, staring in puzzlement at the tear clinging to the end of his finger. “I was very good by the end. I put the blade, right through your brother's heart. As they asked.”

Sam was only human, so when he moved, there was a lot of clatter. The chair scraped as he nudged it closer so he could wrap his arms awkwardly all the way around Cas. “Hug back,” he whispered. “Hug back now.” The arms tentatively came up and encircled him, and then all at once, as if under their own power, they tightened, almost to tight. 

“OK,” said Sam, pushing back. “All right.” Cas's face was all sticky. Sam grabbed the towel and dabbed Cas's face with the dry end, and then scrunched it into Cas's nose. “Blow!” he ordered.

“Soddy?” said Cas through the towel.

“Blow your nose,” Sam said. Cas obeyed, and then seemed startled at the result.

Sam wadded up the sticky towel and tossed it towards the kitchen sink, because Sam was a terrible fucking roommate.

“So, we both suck,” said Sam.

Oddly, Cas mentioned nothing about the establishment of a partial vacuum, but merely nodded.

“What time is it now?”

“It's just after 9 am, Sam.”

“All right. I'm gonna shower, and then I got an idea.”

 

A million year old multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent was sitting cross-legged on the cold concrete floor of the bunker, squinting at the PetSmart instruction booklet as if it were the Dead Sea Scrolls.

“Don't angels come factory equipped knowledge about with how to care for God's creatures, Cas?” Sam teased.

Cas glared at him. “My father did not create _Cavia porcellus_ , Sam. They were bred by humans.”

Sam lay back and petted the little brown and white ball of fur nestled contentedly on his stomach. How the hell was he going to explain to Dean about this? “All right, so then, what do I need to know?” 

Cas squinted at the similar ball of black fur tucked in the crook of his arm. He tilted his head. “Do you hear that?' he said of the odd grunting noise.

“Yeah, isn't that cool? I think they purr!”

“You haven't previously owned guinea pigs, Sam?”

“Nope, never had the chance as a kid.”

Sam sat up as Cas leaned over the cage, surveying it with a sharp eye. “It is important that the housing be kept clean. The shavings, food and water, should be fresh.” He carefully lowered the little rodent into the cage, where it rooted around, getting some shavings on its nose, which was terribly cute. And then it picked up a huge spinach leaf and began to chew, which was also sort of adorable. 

Cas shifted his eyes to Sam. “They are social animals, Sam. He will need his companion! Lone guinea pigs suffer from stress.”

“I guess we don't want that.” Sam shrugged and gave his pig to Cas, who carefully placed it next to the other one. 

“Yes, you see? He's already more content with his brother.”

Sam decided to let that one pass. If it was intentional. Which it might have been. “We need to name 'em,” he deflected.

“That one is Rocinante,” said Cas, pointing to the black on, “and that one is Robert.”

“Wait, you don't get to name mine!” Sam protested.

“I'm sorry, Sam. I didn't name them. Those are the names they have given themselves.”

“Oh.” Sam leaned over and grabbed his brown hamster again, and they stared at each other a while, the brown creature chewing its cud. “You think he minds if I call him Bobby?”

“I don't think he'll mind.”

Sam glanced up. “I just hope you're not watching over right now,” he said. He placed it back in the cage. “And since when did you read Don Quixote?”

“I've never read _Don Quixote_ , Sam. Although I am familiar with Miguel de Cervantes. He was an interesting individual.”

“Hold that thought,” said Sam, who was standing up. “Here's what we're gonna do,” he continued, brushing fur off his T shirt. “You're gonna brew up a fresh pot of coffee, and I'm gonna go down to the library, and then we're gonna sit here and drink coffee and watch guinea pigs and read _Don Quixote_.”

Sam left the room, and Cas remained, for a time, watching over the new pets. He rose to his feet, feeling a vibration against his chest. He took out the cell phone. Though he sensed that Sam was not there, he looked up anyway, in the direction to which Sam had walked off.

He looked at the screen, smiling slightly. He tapped out a one word reply, _“YES,”_ pocketed the phone, and went to make coffee.


End file.
